


spill un-found from a pretty mouth

by obsessivelyintrigued



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Comics/Movie Crossover, Flirting, M/M, Pre-Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bruce is good/bad at it depends on your perspective, some elements from superman: birthright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivelyintrigued/pseuds/obsessivelyintrigued
Summary: Their gazes locked and Clark takes in the hazel eyes of the man before him. The blazing fire and glory of the halo atop his head that only he can see and he wonders if this is how souls catch fire — by staring into one another.Written as part of the Superbat Secret Santa 2017, for this prompt by@zenasu17:BvS movie prompt: Before BvS begin, what will happen if Clark met Bruce long before he comes to Metropolis, maybe during Clark’s traveling.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Who cares about timelines, lol.
> 
> Written as part of the Superbat Secret Santa 2017, for this prompt by [@zenasu17:](http://zenasu17.tumblr.com)  
>  _BvS movie prompt: Before BvS begin, what will happen if Clark met Bruce long before he comes to Metropolis, maybe during Clark’s traveling._
> 
> Also, I got Bruce’s alias from one of his many aliases: Lefty Knox.
> 
> I borrowed some elements from Superman: Birthright for this one. I did like that particular revamp of Supes’ origin and felt comfortable writing along with it. I do hope I did it justice in relating — and at the same time making it this story’s own — it to superbat and the BvS storyline. Thank you so so much to [knoxoursavior](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior) for being my writing buddy (also for suffering because tenses succ ass) //cries, ur my lodi, fren.

**To:** Martha.Kent@kent.com

**Subject:** A new world

 

Ma,

It’s going well. Africa is amazing! Things would be very exciting here, I can tell. I haven’t reached my current destination yet, but I’ll be there soon.

I visited the forest though and Ma, the animals… I wish you could see them through my eyes. We’ve talked about these things before. How living things have this certain glow around them. I still can’t tell exactly what it is. Maybe that halo is the soul or an aura or something.

It’s like a cycle, at some point it shines bright and then fades in the end. It fades and what’s left is… difficult to look at. It’s empty in a way that leaves me empty too.

But I’m doing well, Ma. You and Pa don’t have to worry about a thing.

I know how to unlock the tablet now, or I think I do. The last time I did, it started projecting these images— you’re right, Ma. What I saw, it was like what we’d always imagined. People not very — and at the same time, quite — different from us, from you. From Earth people. I hope to see more of it. Perhaps next time I’ll know exactly how to use it.

Always take care, Ma. I’ll be back soon.

Love to Pa.

 

Over and out,

Clark

  
  


Clark soaks in the sunlight as he trudges along the dirt leading up to the settlement of the  _ Ghuri _ tribe. Sighing in content as he hoists his backpack more comfortably on his shoulders, camera dangling off his neck.

He has been working as a freelance journalist for quite some time now. Finally traveling the world. It’s always a new place, new people, new story.

Before it was difficult, finding out exactly what to do with himself, with his powers. Although he still wasn’t sure what to make of his abilities — nor of his heritage — Clark had accepted that learning what’s around him would be an excellent start. And it didn’t disappoint.

His little trips made him venture into the world that once assaulted his hearing. The same world that caused him to drop to his knees in the middle of a cornfield, curling into himself. A world highlighted by his senses that once confused and scared him now fills him with wonder and fascination. And even though he already knew in himself that he’d like to see more of the world, to get to know her more — he had to take every precaution when he puts himself out there.

Not that he took that precaution to heart.

There were times when he had to be less than discreet of his powers. Situations that warranted his abilities to save lives. His body armored against what normal people could die of. This had caused others to fear him when they found out what he could do. Just like he was scared when his powers began to manifest. 

And despite the connection they had established, once they found out — be it hours or days after — their treatment of him changed. Invariably so, some of them freaked out. Some got paranoid, wondering what else Clark can do, what else was Clark hiding from them.

He knows there’s a reason why he and his parents chose to hide his…  _ uniqueness _ . And these encounters only reinforce it so.

Once he reaches the settlement, his eyes widen as he takes in his surroundings. How patient these people must be to keep themselves like this. To support generations upon generations of their tribe in a setting far different from the lavish living of the neighboring  _ Turaaba _ tribe.

He allows his gaze to wander, taking in the wood pieces nailed together serving as walls of the houses. The curtains covering the windows moving with the occasional gust of wind. Kids running along the streets, jumping across anything that blocks their way—

“ _ Get down! _ ” a deep voice bellows as bullets erupted around the area. A car screeches to a halt not too far from Clark’s right, where the kids ran to.

A man clad in dark clothing, hood covering most parts of his face, jumps on top of the vehicle. His movements quick and efficient as he disarms the first shooter.

He removes the magazine of the gun and pockets it; heaving the second man up only to slam him on the top of the car. Clark hears the shriek and the guttural groan of pain but keeps his eyes trained on the dark figure.

A third man attempts to hit him and Clark watches as bones crack before the man cries out. The magazine of his own gun shoved into his mouth, effectively silencing him.

The mysterious figure stalks towards the driver’s window. Breaks the glass in one strong punch, splinters falling inside. He leans in close, whispering one word to the trembling man behind the wheel, “ _ Drive. _ ”

The vehicle screeches, hurtling itself backward and away from the man.

He turns around. Giving the perimeter one sweep before his gaze lingers on the house where most people had run off. Then his eyes settle on Clark.

Their gazes lock and Clark takes in the hazel eyes of the man, the halo atop his head that only he can see. He wonders if this is how souls catch fire, by staring into each other.

He glows, everything about him  _ glows _ . Clark swallows and continues to stare as the man looks him up and down. His halo burns bright yet looks rough around the edges. Sunlight reflects on the man’s aura — maybe Clark can call it an  _ aura  _ now — and makes him  _ shine _ .

The rough edges of his halo glint. Looking charred against the burning red and gold that seems to emit from within. He feels something surge within him, pulling him closer to the source of that essence. To peek a little closer. To graze his hand over the fiery light and see if this one could burn him. Curiosity beseeching him to get closer to this man — to find out if he could finally leave him wounded. If his fire can burn him,  _ scar _ him.

The halo blazes. Spreading around the man as he continues to stare at Clark. The glow envelopes him with a fire that burns so bright Clark has to squint. He wonders what could possibly fuel that fire. It’s something he hasn’t seen from his travels before. Something he hasn’t seen from the people he has met before.

Clark thought it would only hurt to look once it’s gone, once it leaves and only the dark carcass remains. He didn’t realize it would also hurt to look at it shining so bright.

Commotion sparks once the people realize the assailants have fled. It feels so long that Clark was staring at him yet it couldn’t have been  _ that _ long. He sent those gunmen scurrying away so quickly that Clark has to wonder exactly how he did it, despite seeing it happen right before his eyes.

Warning shots erupt and once again the man jumps onto the roofs. Out and gone.

_ Who is he? _

“ _ It’s the same man again, Abena, I know it’s him! I swear, he keeps showing up. All the more reason I don’t need any of these bodyguards. _ ”

Clark snaps out of his reverie and turns to the source of that voice. He runs towards the man. “ _ Mr. Asuru? Mr. Kobe Asuru? _ ”

“ _ I am Kobe Asuru. Who are you? _ ”

“My name is—” He pauses as two men point their guns at him. Their trembling hands trying to steadily grip their guns. Clark looks at them, then at their guns and promptly raises both of his hands where they can see it.

“ _ Don’t move any closer, _ ” one of the men said, stepping forward to cover Mr. Asuru from him. The other man yanks his backpack off of him and presses the barrel of his gun against the back of Clark’s neck.

“ _ That won’t help any of us. _ ” Clark tries to placate, pointing his thumb to the general direction where the vehicle drove off, “ _ Those gunmen are getting away _ .”

“ _ Silence. Like them, you came out of nowhere. As that man who keeps stopping them. _ ” The woman who’s rummaging through his bag says, “ _ Passport under the name of Clark Kent— _ ”

The man who removed his bag from him begins patting him up and down, “ _ No weapons. _ ”

“ _ —no weapons. _ ” The woman confirms. “ _ Press pass from the  _ Ghana Dispatch — _ that might be a cover. What is this, a computer of some sort? _ ”

She holds up the tablet and Clark stiffens a bit, his gaze moving from her to the tablet in her hand. “ _ Of some sort. Please be careful with that. I mean Mr. Asuru no harm, miss. _ ”

Slowly, Clark lowers his hand as the woman returns his belongings back to his bag and throws it at his feet. “ _ I’ve come to talk and listen. Unlike those gunmen. No wonder you needed bodyguards, Mr. Asuru, sir _ .”

“ _ Oh, I keep telling them that I don’t if that dark-clad friend of ours keeps popping up. Though he never stays for long. That might be because my bodyguards keep pointing guns at him whenever he shows up _ .” Asuru chuckles, offering his hand to Clark who takes it. He gestures at the two men now behind him, “ _ Gyamfi, Yao, my sister, Abena. And please, call me Kobe _ .”

Clark nods to each of them, “ _ Clark. It’s more than an assignment to meet the  _ Ghuri  _ tribe’s favorite son, Kobe, it’s an honor. _ ” He hoists his backpack onto his shoulders and runs his sweating palms over his jeans. “ _ You’re fast becoming a legendary activist. Though, I have to be honest. It is not too clear to me exactly what you are fighting for. _ ”

“ _ Justice, Clark. It has different meanings. _ ” Kobe smiles at him, reserved but determined, “ _ Allow us to show you. _ ”

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

 

He follows the truck back, fully aware of where it is headed.

Now, perched atop on one of the tallest trees in one of the more lavish areas of the  _ Turaaba _ settlement, he watches. He listens.

The henchmen report the same man.  _ Him _ . They are talking about him. That’s all they keep saying, over and over.

Third time’s the charm then because the old man is not looking keen on them.

He pats his pocket for the magazine earlier. Half-full with its bullets heavier than it should be. Listening, he tries to predict their next move. Analyzing. What more could they do?

A lot more, it turns out.

The men he beat up earlier get hounded back. Taken to the darker alcoves of the house. He knows now, what happens to men who get hounded back. Go five, six years ago and he would be unaware how shallow his understanding was.

They didn’t protest though, which is not surprising either. The rest disappear before the bald one gets an earful. He jumps onto the other branch and away before the old man opens his mouth.

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

 

“ _ To the Ghuri tribe _ .” Clark echoes along with the men and women surrounding him. He grins, sharing their fun even for a short while.

He watches Kobe, shining bright among his tribe men. A fighting soul. One dedicated to justice.

“ _ These children _ —” Kobe gestures to the kid playing on one side, their schoolbooks spilling out of their open bags— “ _ They don’t deserve this. It’s their right to be out there, in the sun, knowing who they really are. Not in the shadows, earning only the knowledge of others and not themselves _ ."

Kobe turns to him, setting his drink down on the wooden table, " _ Can I ask you a question, Clark?” _

_ “Of course _ .” Clark nods. Then he uses his speed before a drink spills on Kobe’s shirt from a passing man jostled by the festivities, “ _ As long as I can answer them _ .”

“ _ You should be able to _ —” Kobe chuckles— “ _ Not now, though. Maybe later on.” _

_ “Clark, why these, stories? What’s so fascinating to you about them?” _

For a moment, Clark opens his mouth to answer, fairly sure he’s got the words to justify why. Kobe waits for him. Expectant but not pushing. Encouraging would be the word. Clark stares at the way the aura of this man is moving, his essence glowing.

“I d—” Clark begins. He shifts his gaze to the children and wills his hearing to span out. Switches through his visions as he lets his eyes roam the room. A room full of people. Laughing,  _ living  _ despite the hardships and their current predicament. Each telling their own stories. What’s so fascinating about them? What’s so fascinating about stories?

Is it the story itself? Clark knows it is. But it’s not  _ just  _ that. Stories, at their very best, lead to the truth. Truth blossoms from a lot of places, it is a force that drives a lot of things.

Of all the places he has been— where is his truth?

Surely, it’s not here; part of it is here, though. One part, among many others.

What’s so fascinating about these stories?

“—Truth,  _ Kobe _ .” Clark smiles, tight-lipped and wistful, “ _ I’m trying to find mine _ .”

“ _ And you think it lies among these stories? _ ” Kobe inquires, his smile kind and understanding.

“ _ I think it lies everywhere, _ ” Clark loosens his grip on his drink — still half-full. He sets it lightly on the table, staring at his hand, “ _ I just need to find them _ .”

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

  
Clark hears the movement before he sees it.

He visits the forest again, hoping to send his mom another message. And also to try his luck with the tablet again, before he hears the sound of a shovel digging up dirt.

Not daring to use any more of his powers, he walks to the source of the noise. He listens to the beating heart of the person whose breathing is still normal despite heaving mound after mound of dirt.

As he rounds the tree, he sees a man in a gray shirt standing at least four feet deep in an opening he seems to have dug from the ground. The same man that keeps stopping Kobe’s assassinations. In his shock, Clark immediately hides behind a tree. The leaves around him moving with the gust of wind from his quick movements.

Stilling his own breaths, Clark hears the man stop. Oddly enough, he feels like he can see him. Like he knows that Clark has seen him moments ago. Straining to hear, he tries to focus on the man, surprised to hear his heartbeat closer than before.

Clark knows he’s a good man, so it wouldn’t hurt him to take a peek or something. Maybe explain himself. Or maybe he could introduce himself; yes, that’s better,  _ actually  _ better. He’d get to know him more since he’s certainly not the killing type — if him saving Kobe over and over is taken into consideration. Besides, it would also be difficult to explain how Clark’s obviously ‘not-killed’ if he ever tries, not that Clark thinks he would. Perhaps they’ll know each other deeper if they have each other’s names. 

Clark remembers his glow; he can feel that this man is more than just jumping on rooftops. More than stopping planned assassinations and—

—And there’s a sharp object pointing at his neck.

_ Right. _

So much for explaining and trying to get 'not-killed.'

“ _ Who are you? _ ” The man asks. Clark tilts his head at the voice. Feeling like he shouldn’t be surprised at all that he speaks the language well. Not to mention sounding like the deep timbre of his voice was made for it.

“ _ Clark Kent _ .” He replies, pushing himself further against the tree. Trying to look like he is avoiding the knife while trying not to dent and break the wood behind him because well, that would be  _ awkward  _ now, wouldn’t it? “ _ And you are _ ?”

“ _ Doesn’t matter. Why are you here?” _

_ “Same reason as you _ .” Clark tries, even though he knows he’s already failed.

Chuckling, the man extracts the knife from Clark. Then he leans on the trunk beside him; arms crossed as he stares down at Clark, “ _ I highly doubt that, Kent _ .” And with a smirk, he winks at Clark before returning to his task.

Taking that as his cue, Clark slowly steps away from the tree to follow him; confident now that he won’t get killed. Though he can’t exactly get killed, i t's not like he's particularly thrilled at the thought of pretending to die under this man's hands if it comes to it .

As he walks closer, he sees the magazines and what seems to be documents on the open chest the man had dug. There are a few electronic devices on the chest that he clicks through before throwing them back. The metal on metal clink too loud for Clark’s ears.

“ _ You’re a reporter.”  _ The man said, now rummaging through the papers. It doesn’t escape Clark’s notice that despite the ammunition, there are no guns in sight. Further supporting his claim that this man only aims to intervene at the attempts on Kobe’s life.

Frowning, Clark chooses to dodge the statement. Instead, he says, “ _ And you’re the man who stopped Kobe’s assassinations. Why?” _

The man pauses and Clark notices his hands crumpling the papers in his tight grip. His eyes moving from the ammunition on the chest to the papers in his hands. A few seconds of silence pass between them. Clark finds himself lost again at this man’s glow. Lighting up brighter against the green and brown backdrop of the forest—

“ _ It’s not important _ .”

His eyes widen at the reply.  _ Not important _ .

“Not important—” Clark heaves a sigh. He sits with his legs crossed under him to level his stare at this man. His tone incredulous, he says,“You saved a man’s life. Multiple times from what I’ve gathered. And it’s not important?”

“Apprehensive enough to speak English. I see.” The man says, his tone both serious and teasing. At such close proximity, Clark finally takes note of the growing beard and the fake scar that cross the man’s left eye. Though, he may be the only one who can see that it’s fake.

_ There’s a speck of blue in his left eye. _

“Listen, Kent,” The man begins, setting the paper down before hoisting himself up to sit beside him. Clark finds himself a mere few inches from the man’s face, “He’s going to die and  _ soon  _ if you don’t listen to me very carefully.”

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

 

To say that the  _ Turaaba  _ tribe has it easier than the  _ Ghuri  _ would be an understatement.

Clark steps into the hall where he’s being ushered in by a  _ Ghuri  _ servant. He expected the more extravagant living from his research and from what Abena said. Despite the fact that Kobe and his supporters are trying to up their game, there is also no denying the fact that the  _ Turaaba _ provide jobs and money to the people of the  _ Ghuri _ . The only problem he sees is that whatever they are saying they ‘give’ — it is less than what they deserve.

“ _ Here, Mr. Kent. Representative Kebile will join you in a moment _ .” The servant said. He ushers Clark — who is wiping his neck and forehead of the sweat that has formed on his brows — to sit on one of the chairs around the circular table. He angles the fan to lessen the heat caused by the extreme weather before he leaves.

With a smile, he gives the man a warm “Thank you,” settling himself better on the chair and bringing his notes on the current story out to read as he waits.

As he reads, Clark finds himself drifting back to his conversation with the man. Remembering with slight annoyance that he didn’t even bother to tell Clark his name when he trusted him with his. As if Clark isn’t even worth an alias.

But then he said that Kobe will die. And after his meeting with the representative, they must prepare the best course of action so that Kobe will live to continue his fight.

 

_ “This fight is not ours. But we can help them win.” _

_ “Why?” _

_ “Because it’s the right thing to do.” _

 

A shuffle on the hallway snaps Clark out of his reverie. He puts his pen down and stands to acknowledge the arrival of his host.

Representative Kebile looks like any other diplomat Clark has met. Bone-weary but with eyes as sharp as the day they entered the arena of politics. He wears a loose white coat over a blue shirt, the grey on his temples accentuating his sharp gaze.

The servant that welcomed him brings them drinks, then immediately makes his exit. Representative Kebile makes quick, light talk. He sounds like he’s very interested in Clark and the stories he has written that he probably only stumbled upon during this morning’s breakfast.

“ _ I’ve read some of your stories as a freelance journalist, Mr. Kent. Certainly the stories of a million fade to the story of one. Indeed, those stories deserved to be printed _ .”

Clark smiles, tight-lipped and bashful. “ _ I’m glad you have stumbled upon some of my works, Representative. And quite right so, some stories do appeal more than others. Lately, that of the  _ Ghuri  _ tribe proves to be… quite appealing _ .”

“ _ I can see where your sentiment lies, Mr. Kent _ .” Representative Kebile nods, taking a sip of his drink. Clark sniffs his own — coffee, black, no sugar, not exactly the way he likes but it will do. “ _ However, you must understand, our tribe has fought long and hard for this settlement. We endured many hardships to make this place habitable while the Ghuri opted to remain as settlers  _ — latecomers —  _ that benefit from our employment _ .  _ And Kobe Asuru, stirring up such ingratitude after all that we have offered. After what we have given to them for generations and now—” _ Kebile huffs a disbelieving breath. Yet, all Clark can see in the man is the barely hidden contempt in his eyes. The angry blaze of his light aura turning to crimson— “ _ Now they wish to drive us away from our homes. _ ”

“ _ Latecomers? _ ” Clark echoes, hand grabbing his pen, “ _ They’ve been here for generations. And no one is arranging a coup — they merely wish for equal representation in the government. _ ”

Kebile shifts his gaze from the open gardens below to Clark, eyes shining with mirth. His next words condescendingly uttered, “ _ Give an inch, Mr. Kent. They want representation for what? For bottom-feeding? We were content to give them essentially what they need. We only ask for them to extend the same courtesy. Asuru’s ideas are dangerous. Significantly threatening not only our living but also theirs.” _

With a last shake of his head and a ghost of a smirk, Kebile says, “ _ The parliament has no interest in the radicals of Mr. Asuru’s like. We will not be bullied into their ideas merely because they gather the attention of the general public and international media.” _

Just then, a shadow of a familiar figure walks closer and a tall man enters the terrace, clutching an envelope in his hand. He gives Clark a lingering stare as he steps behind Kebile, holding the paper out to the old man, “ _ A letter from the office, sir _ .”

“ _ Ah. Thank you, Knox _ .” Kebile says. Then he turns to Clark, hands already tearing the envelope open, “I _ suppose that will be all. Thank you, Mr. Kent. _ ”

“ _ Yes, that certainly will be all.” _ Clark keeps his gaze sharp on the other man, “ _ Thank you as well, Representative.” _

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

 

He waits by the forest, calming himself and willing his breaths to even out.

That’s how he knows. That’s how he stops every attempt to kill Kobe.

The man —  _ Knox _ , Kebile has called him  _ Knox  _ (frankly, a stupid alias if you ask Clark) — enters the clearing. His hands hidden in the pockets of his cargo pants. Broad shoulders straining his white shirt and the growing beard —now trimmed— framing his face and complimenting his jaw, and—

—And Clark should  _ really _ stop thinking about that as he walks closer, looking nonchalant.

“Well?” He asks, “Your little manipulation did  _ nothing _ . I got  _ nothing _ out of him.”

“That was what you call investigative journalism?” Knox retorts, huffing a disbelieving breath as he stops a couple of steps away from a fuming Clark Kent.

“You’re working for them.” Clark says through clenched jaw, taking a step closer to the other man. He internally curses the few inches that make him shorter. “ _ That’s  _ investigative journalism.”

“Hardly.” Knox shrugs, “I was planning to tell you that.”

Clark gapes at him, both baffled and taken aback by the apparent nonchalance. Then he clenches his jaw again, turning his gaze away from the man, “You’re insufferable.”

“So I’ve been told—” Knox smirks— “I’m trying to learn how these people work. How they go about their business. I mean no harm, and after your conversation with the representative, I assume you know what to expect.”

Clark stares at him.  _ Trying to know how these people work. _ Pa had told him once that he will meet a lot of different people in his life, and he was right. Clark has met the patient ones. The type of people willing to remain quiet as long as they are not bullied into something they don’t want. Then there are the fiery ones, some angry, some boastful. There are the silent ones and Clark knows now that their minds are the loudest.  _ Trying to know how these people work. _ He can only imagine how that goes for a man who is trying to figure out  _ exactly  _ how people tick.

“Their opposition is planning a march.” Clark begins, choosing not to meddle in the other's business. He hopes that the same courtesy will be returned to him. After all, he won’t like another one fearing him and what he could do, “They’re not going to like it.”

Knox steps closer to him, still smirking, “They don’t have to.”

Clark can’t help but glance at the fake scar. He wants to wipe that smugness off of his insufferable face too since he already knows how insufferable he is. “Kobe must be watched when he speaks. The  _ Ghuri _ can’t leave their tribe.”

The smirk turns into a grin, “Now  _ that’s _ investigative journalism.”

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

 

It wasn’t difficult to gather the audience Kobe would need. As someone who had worked with a number of newspapers, it wasn’t difficult for Clark to convince some hungry reporters to listen to what Kobe has to say.

Convincing the  _ Ghuri _ though, proves to be trickier.

“ _ And so, the great white man has finally decided to teach the ignorant villagers some manners _ ." Abena says, challenging him, “ _ Do you speak for the  _ Turaaba  _ now, Mr. Kent? _ ”

“ _I don’t want to see you hurt._ ” Clark begins, hands hanging on his sides in a helpless gesture, “ _The_ Turaaba _are gearing for a fight._ _Go, but please, go small. When confronted with unexpected strength, people first react with fear. Believe me when I say this. I_ know.”

Kobe looks at him, assessing. His eyes narrow behind his glasses, “ _ Then that leaves this solely up to me. I’m not going to risk anyone else. _ ”

Clark nods in understanding. He knows too, the unwillingness to risk any more lives. And what other choices now, other than to gamble with one’s own.

“ _ I’ve called in some favors; you’ll be fine."  _ He looks around before his gaze settles on Kobe's determined face, _ "We’ll be fine. _ ”

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

  
Bruce doesn’t know what hits him.

Sure, leaving his childhood home for a little over six years now has proved to be useful for his cause. He has learned a lot. Some he didn’t expect, some very much welcome.

Days and nights spent in the Arabia. Months spent at the gnawing coldness of Nepal couldn’t have prepared him for that reporter. Even more annoying is how he seems to claw at his defenses and how Bruce lets him.

As he sits on one of the higher branches in the forest, he hears the deep crunching of dried leaves. Then a heavy bag was thrown to the dirt. Glancing over his shoulders, he sees Clark, leaning against one of the trees and shuffling in his bag.

He really doesn’t know what hits him.

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

 

He was waiting for him at the clearing, perched atop one of the higher branches. Clark pretends he doesn’t know  (pretends he didn’t just assume that the other man was waiting for him) because if he does, well…  _ awkward _ .

With a sigh, he sits on the ground and rests his back on the tree opposite of the one Knox is perched on. He brings out his notes and his laptop; leaving the tablet for another time as he waits for him to go back down.

Clark admits, he finds the man interesting — also insufferable. The fake scar alone is like a red traffic light glaring at him on the highway. Then there’s the physique. There aren’t many men whom Clark has met who actually manage to be bigger than him. But this man — he has managed to do so not only in breadth but also in height.

Visiting this settlement, all Clark was geared up to do is writing another story. He didn’t expect to meet a man like Kobe; heck, he didn’t expect Kobe to be  _ that _ kind of man. Whatever  _ that  _ is. The kind that fights for many even if few understand the cause. The one that swallows up the fear and builds up the courage to fight for what he believes is right.

But this man, Knox — wherever he got that  _ (horrible) _ obvious alias — he’s like a code Clark would take too long to decipher. At first, he thought his intentions were clear — trying to keep Kobe alive and all that. Then the next moment, he’s working for the opposition. Not to mention that he seems to tell Clark things one doesn’t just tell anyone.

_ I’m trying to learn how these people work. _

Now, that’s something you just don’t tell anyone. And also, not something a normal person usually does on a daily basis. Not that Clark sees him as normal anymore.

He hears the near silent movement on the trees, the small change in weight as he hops down. Clark marvels at how a man of his build can swing across trees with so little noise. His movements so measured that Clark thinks if not for his powers, he wouldn’t even know he was there.

A loud thump. Boots crunching on dried leaves announce his presence but Clark doesn’t bother to look up.

“Nice landing.” Clark switches his laptop on and waits for the device to boot. He scoots a bit to his side in a silent offer to the other man.

“Thanks.” He says, confusing Clark as to which gesture he got the ‘thanks’ for. Their arms brush against each other as Knox sits beside him, lightly thumping his head on the tree.

“What did they say to you?” Knox asks. A couple minutes of silence pass with him looking up to the night sky and Clark waiting for his laptop to boot. His fingers itching to fiddle with the tablet but refrain himself from doing so. The full moon shines her light on them, several stars already twinkling around her.

“They agreed.” Clark replies, glancing at him before he sets his laptop down and looks at the sky too, “Though I’m still worried.”

Seeing him nod in his peripheral, Clark sighs, shoulders slumping. Silence stretches around them once again.Clark lets his hearing span the area around them. He opens up to the sounds of the cicadas. The scratch of the smaller animals in the bushes. The slither of snakes on trees and hoot of owls and the occasional purr of predators. Closing his eyes, he imagines the glow of the man beside him, and what it looks like so close to him. Though he’s not sure of his own glow, the man beside him makes him feel oddly comfortable; their arms brushing against one another as their breaths settle into a rhythm.

Another beat and Knox asks, “Why?”

Clark turns to him and takes a breath, finding himself surprisingly close to the other man’s face. This close, he can’t help but look at his features — eyes closed, the lines from frowning and scowling smoothens in his relaxed state, giving him an almost boyish look. And the glow around him is brighter this close, almost reaching out to Clark, but not quite.

He cracks an eye open to Clark, “Well?”

Clearing his throat, Clark shifts his gaze away. “Well—” he begins, pulling his knees up and hugging them to himself. He rests his chin on his knees before continuing— “I just feel like, these people are going to risk their lives. We know they will, but we’re not doing something about it.”

Silence stretches between them again, Clark buries his face in his jean-clothed legs. He’s having a feeling it might always be like this with this man. He seems comfortable in the dark, in silence — watching. Like a predator does to its prey.  It’s oddly fitting and Clark finds his interest piqued once again. 

“Is that how powerless you feel?” He finally begins to speak again.  _ Finally _ , Clark thinks, “For some time I’ve been trying to learn some things. There will always be things you can’t control, and you will always feel bad about it. Not that I’m good at not feeling bad about it. It’s just that some will always be ahead of the curve.”

He feels eyes boring into him. Clark swallows before he raises his head and true enough, hazel eyes made even more vibrant by the moon and his own vision bore into him.

_ There’s a speck of blue in his left eye. _

“But should that make you feel any less powerful?”

Clark blinks and bites his lower lip, considering. He casts his eyes down and doesn’t see the other man glancing at his lips. Or the way he quickly shifts and clenches his jaw to reign himself in.

It’s true. At least some part of what he said is. Though Clark doubts he knows how difficult it is to him. For someone with capabilities like his, capabilities with which he can do almost anything — it can be hard to accept things as they are. The ‘what ifs’ will always be there with him, creeping and whispering. There may be people ahead of the curve but Clark feels he is too far behind.

A shoulder nudges him and Clark has enough sense to follow the action. Looking up, he sees eyebrows raised at him, “Stop thinking too much, it’s a rhetorical question.”

Grinning, Clark shakes his head and returns his attention to his laptop which is still not working. A multi-faceted man. Clark has a feeling he has barely cracked the first mask. Frowning, he places the device back onto his lap, dragging a fingertip furiously across the mousepad. When there’s no response, he begins turning the device on and off.

“I can fix that, you know.” Knox quips beside him, amusement lacing his tone.

“I’d rather call a professional.” Clark retorts, barely stopping the groan of frustration that tries to escape past his lips.

Chuckling, and with that smug smirk Clark knows is already plastered on that face, he replies, “I’m a professional.”

Clark glances at him, “A more  _ professional _ professional.” He hears a huff then Knox is reaching around him to grab his laptop. Arms circling around Clark as he feels the ripples of hardened muscle beneath the thin black shirt.

“Just let me,” Knox insists, “You look pathetic pressing the space bar like that.”

“It’s not pathetic!” Clark replies, already trying to stop himself from laughing. What a ridiculous sight they must make. Him holding his laptop out to one side while Knox reaches around him, already half-straddling Clark, “I’ll have you know that it worked for me before!”

Knox grunts and Clark turns to see the smile on his face. Which he should regret doing so because, in the next moment, he is lying on his back with the other man on top of him. Knox holds his laptop up like a waiter would with a tray.

“You really should shut this thing down before carrying it in your bag, it might damage the hard drive.” He says. Knox mutters something else but Clark is already having difficulties deciphering it because even if he has carried heavier weights before, this is a lot different and more than he anticipated. His hands hang in the air between them as he contemplates where to put them, his head hanging in defeat.

“Look.” He twists the device in his hand around and shows it to Clark whose eyes widen as Knox leans further down on him, resting a hand on his chest. With a smirk, he says, “Quit being flustered, Kent.  _ Read _ .”

Clark blinks, forcing his eyes to focus on his laptop. The monitor is flashing a text — something about the hard drive and RAM and battery percentage and a lot of other stuff Clark could ponder over any other day but not  _ now _ .

“It’s working.”

“It is.” Knox confirms, sounding smug. He places the laptop on Clark’s chest and stands.

Exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Clark sits up, the laptop falling from his chest to his lap. He frowns, watching his retreating form, already blending in the dark.

“Thank you, I guess.” Clark says, hopefully loud enough that Knox hears him.

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

 

The next day, Clark finds himself scribbling notes while taking occasional photos as he listens to Kobe. The man is speaking with such charm and confidence in front of hungry reporters and the people of both  _ Turaaba  _ and  _ Ghuri  _ tribes.

“ _ Ladies and Gentlemen, I am characterized in the press these days as a man eager for conflict. _ ” Kobe begins, his eyes scanning the crowd before him, “ _ But I am here to tell you that there is conflict with or without me. It thrives, anytime, anywhere, whenever someone thinks they are somehow superior to others _ .”

The reporter beside Clark frowns, scribbling furiously at her notepad before snapping a picture. He strains his hearing, far down to the  _ Ghuri _ settlement. Things seem to be going fine and Clark heaves a relieved sigh, for now.

“ _ And that is a conflict that we, the  _ Ghuri,  _ will not abide _ .”

There’s movement in his peripheral so Clark glances to his side. Suddenly, there’s a hand discreetly placed on his elbow and leading him away.

“What is this?” Clark whispers, letting his arms fall as he idly walks with Knox; like old friends would. The guards flanking Kobe on the stage barely spare them a glance.

“There’s an attack coming.” Knox says, whispering the words to his ear and Clark finds himself resenting that couple of inches again, “I need you to make sure his sister will be fine. And a few other things.”

An incredulous chuckle escapes past his lips. They round a corner into a narrow passage obscured by trees and bushes. Clark shifts; the hand on his elbows falling to softly grasp his wrist, “You trust me?”

The hand promptly falls from his wrist as he says those words. Then a brown envelope filled with papers is thrust in his hand instead.

Knox steps closer. Then he places a key in his pocket, causing Clark to jump a bit.

Narrowed eyes meet his and Clark shrugs, almost imperceptibly, saying “I asked because you didn’t seem to be the trusting type. I mean, you didn’t even tell me your name.”

With a huff, Knox pushes him up against a tree and Clark lets himself follow, swallowing a lump suddenly in his throat as their gazes locked with one another. Knox let his gaze flicker to Clark’s blue eyes then to his slightly parted lips, “Surprising as it may seem. Yes, I do trust you.”

Then Knox leaves, pushing himself away from Clark because  _ yes _ , he can do that too.

Clark sighs and retreats back to the plaza.

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

Bruce just broke some bones and glass — in the process of stopping the Ghuri settlement from going up in flames — when he sees him again.

He was about to return to his post at the government office as if nothing happened when chaos erupts at the plaza where Kobe was speaking at.

And in the middle of it all, was Clark Kent. With his camera dangling around his neck and his pen sticking out from the back pocket of his jeans.

He storms past the people running away from the scene and into where Clark has just ushered Kobe behind one of the tall columns of the municipal hall.

“Kent!” Bruce shouts, disarming a shooter before he takes the sprint towards them, “What the hell happened?”

“You left!” Clark exclaims, as if that explains everything. Bruce gives him a  _ look _ before placing a hand on his shoulder and shoves at him to move, “Everything was going fine then they arrived in those trucks.”

Grunting, Bruce merely pushes them towards a more protected alcove to their left, the opening leading down to the parking lot down in the basement. Bruce’s mind races to catch up, calculating the time it took him to stop the other men earlier and its correlation to the current shootout.

“They demanded the paper you handed me—”

“There are five people trying to kill us right now. What do you suppose we do with those papers?”

Clark strains to hear, he gives an almost imperceptible shrug, “Actually, there are six.”

Clenching his jaw, Bruce says through gritted teeth, “Sorry I wasn’t specific enough!”

Clark watches as the man cards his fingers through his hair, struggling to hide his own smug smirk. Instead, he merely gives a sort of helpless shrug. To be fair, he couldn’t help noticing it either; especially when he thinks it could help.

Suddenly, Kobe speaks, “ _ What’s your plan? _ ”

Biting his lower lip, Clark turns his gaze from Kobe to Bruce who has to stop himself from following the action. Taking a deep breath, he risks a glance past their cover to get a picture of the open area.

All doors of the truck remain open. The guy he knocked out earlier lies on the side of the driver’s seat; still unconscious. A gunman stands at the back of the truck. The other on the right passenger side, mostly covered, both waiting for an opening. Two — no,  _ three _ , wait from afar. Bruce estimates it to be at least twenty, thirty meters. Though the elevated alcove gives them a better vantage point to aim their guns at despite the distance. The last one, because  _ yes _ , Kent is right, is hiding behind the fallen podium to their far right. The only one nearest to them.

Gunshots cracked around them and Bruce finds himself on top of Kent who, apparently, pulled him back from surveying the field.

“I can take care of myself,” he says in a low voice. He glares, eerily close to Kent’s blue  _ (why is it so blue?) _ eyes as he holds his hands out on either side of his head.

“I never doubted that you can.”

Huffing, he pushes himself up with a hand on Kent’s chest. Clark only had a fraction of a second to mull over how he can help without scaring the man away like everyone he has met before Knox steps out in the open.

He and Kobe stare at one another before he risks a glance at the scene.

Agility, Clark notes; he moves fast with lethal precision yet he doesn’t kill, nor does he even maim.

His body melts into the surroundings as he advances to his next opponent. The surprise attacker out in the daylight; sidestepping before surging forward for a series of quick blows and attacks.

Then he throws something in the middle of the field. Detonates. And smoke erupts, swallowing the open area.

Smirking, Clark whispers to himself, “Show off.”

Then Clark hears the tell-tale cock of a gun; for a brief moment, he turns to Kobe who gives him a nod before he goes out into the field.

Gunshots as loud as thunder to his ears crack. Switching his vision, Clark sees Knox skidding onto the side of the truck. His movements slow and deliberate as he sneaks up and knocks two more men out before the smoke clears.

Clark catches the bullet hitting off of him as he runs, using the smoke as much as the other uses it.

He slams onto the passenger side, pocketing the bullets before pulling the door open and sliding inside.

“What are you doing?” Knox grits out, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel.

“Believe it or not, I can manage.” Clark replies, nonchalant. He tilts his head to the side, “Drive.”

Knox gives him a look before he backtracks the vehicle. Bullets dig through the rear of their stolen truck; one wheezing past only to hit the side mirror.

An audible thump and Knox turns to him, “Castling?”

He nods, “Good idea.”

Then Clark is met with a gun to his back. He twists, knocking the barrel to the side of the truck and out of his opponent’s hand.

He hears a loud crash and a grunt. He glances over his shoulder to see one of the gunmen retching in pain on the hood of the truck.

Dodging the blow aimed at his jaw, he makes sure to land his own attacks with just the right strength not to decimate his assailant.

Light blows on muscles. Far from the major organs. Ducking his head so his face doesn't meet his opponent's fist, potentially breaking it if it did.

A hand aimed to cut off the air supply and the man quickly falls limp in Clark’s hands. Then he turns around, his eyes meeting Knox’s.

“So, about those papers—”

Knox chuckles and waves him off with a hand as he slides into the car, “Drive.”

Grinning, Clark shakes his head; feeling like one of those songs his father used to blast on early Sunday mornings about going down and knowing the truth.

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

 

**To:** Martha.Kent@kent.com

**Subject:** New Friends

 

Ma,

Everything went well with my latest story. Thanks to this man I met. I’ll tell you more about him soon. I feel like words on a screen aren’t enough to describe him.

He is a good man, and though I feel like he is hiding a lot of things, I realize he only means well.

Kobe Asuru’s visions are finally realized. With his charm and wit, I’m sure he’d be a formidable diplomat. He is a simple man with a great legacy. And the world is a better place for it.

I finally unlocked the tablet, Ma. And I think I’m ready to help the world be a better place too.

I’m coming home.

Love to Pa, and I’ll see you both soon.

 

Over and out,

Clark

  
  


 

Clark hits the send button. He stares at the chest Knox left. They didn't see each other again after the attack at the plaza, and though he feels like a part of the truth he was looking for just fled from his grasp, he understands. He saw something that he feels Knox doesn’t show to anyone. His mission is better kept hidden and yet he’s shown it — even if it’s merely the tip of it — to Clark.

He melts the chest and its remaining contents with his heat vision.

The Ghuri is doing well, better than what Kobe envisioned they would. After the exposition of the representative’s not so admirable schemes — both tribes had it put it upon themselves to set things right. And Clark couldn’t have been gladder that somehow, even in his short stay, he was able to help.

He picks up the tablet from his open backpack, his other hand still petting the snoring lion beside him. Sunlight streams down to them and Clark leans further back into the tree, basking.

He unlocked the tablet yesterday. Images upon images, stories upon stories poured out. But there is one thing,  _ one  _ symbol that is constant in all of them.

A symbol of hope.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS CHAPTER! YAY!

 

 

Clark Kent is home.

 

Metropolis is warm and bright. Almost like Smallville but with a different bubble of energy.

 

He remembers standing among the reporters scurrying in the Daily Planet bullpen and meeting one of the most powerful women in his life,

 

_ “Welcome to the Daily Planet, Clark.” _

 

_ “Glad to be here, Lois.” _

 

He remembers the live broadcast on the precious son of Gotham. Remembers seeing her prince coming home after years of traveling and shrugs it off. Only to meet the same man later on, stepping out of a sleek black car; his glow duller than Clark remembers.

 

He feels rooted to the spot. The same man he fought alongside with years ago. The man who talked about saving people and fighting for what is right. The same man who fought because it is the right thing to do. The same man who traveled the world to learn. The man who hid himself from prying eyes with a fake scar and a carefully trimmed beard—

 

Is the same man who wouldn’t even spare him a glance.

 

Clark seeks him out; he did give him his name years ago. If he truly is as smart as he seemed years ago then he would remember. He is bound to remember.

 

“Mr. Wayne," Clark calls out, stretching a hand, "Clark Kent, Daily Planet.”

 

Wayne pauses, looking him up and down. A smirk slowly sneaks across his lips and Clark internally sighs at the recognition in those hazel eyes.

 

“ _ Daily Planet _ .” Wayne squints, tilting his head. He reaches for the offered hand and Clark notes the callousness in those manicured fingers. Different yet similar from the ones that had gripped his wrist years ago. “Do I own this one or was it the other guy?”

 

“Mr. Wayne, do you—”

 

“I should have known.” Wayne chuckles, giving him another once over causing Clark to fidget, “Or  _ maybe _ , I did—”

 

His voice drops so only Clark could hear— “Superman.”

 

Taking a step forward, Clark raises his hand. “Listen, Mr. Wayne, Knox, or whatever you want me to call you—” Nights of stalking along the dark streets of Gotham flashes before him— “I need your help.”

 

A resounding clap stops them. Bruce glances from the hand suddenly on his shoulder to Clark.

 

“Boys! Clark Kent meets Bruce Wayne! I love it! I love bringing people together!” Lex exclaims, looking from one of them to the other. He extends a hand to Bruce, “How are we?”

 

“Lex.” Bruce responds, taking the extended hand in his.

 

“Hello. Good.” Lex replies, then he turns to Clark, “Hi, hello. Lex, it is a pleasure.”

 

Clark glances at Bruce whose gaze is boring holes into him, before taking Lex’s hand.

 

“Ow! Wow, that is a  _ good _ grip—” Lex pats him on the shoulder and Clark sees Bruce’s eyebrows rising— “You should not pick a fight with this person.”

 

Chuckling, Bruce humors him, “I figured that much, Lex. Alongside him though, what do you think?”

 

He sees Lex straighten before them, his gaze turning darker, but Bruce merely smirks at him.

 

Then, Mercy arrives and Lex excuses himself, the pair of them watching their departure. Bruce slips his hands into his pockets, “What do you need help for, Clark?”

 

Clark grins, “Let’s get your leech first.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, everyone! 
> 
> Let's gush over these two idiots over on [tumblr!](http://queen---queer.tumblr.com)


End file.
